


Prompt 112: “Why Are You Bleeding?”

by jiichan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Ambiguous Relationship, Canon Compliant, Competition-Set Fic, Fluff, Hotels, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiichan/pseuds/jiichan
Summary: Yuri barges into Otabek's hotel room with blood on his face. The only thing Otabek can think? "What's this dumbass done this time?"





	Prompt 112: “Why Are You Bleeding?”

**Author's Note:**

> The first fic I posted to my writing tumblr. It was a fun one to do, and I wasn't sure how romantic I wanted to make it, so I'll leave Yuri and Otabek's status up to y'all to interpret however you want when reading it.

Clicking a few things on his laptop, Otabek put his headphones on and leaned back against a stack of pillows. His new mix had to be finished by tomorrow. He had a gig set up for him late at night he was going to DJ at. It’d been a while since he’d done any shows, and he was a little nervous. But at least he was comfy.

Hotel beds always somehow felt better than Otabek’s bed at home. Something about how plush everything was – the way his head sunk into the airy pillows, the way the sheets felt light and cozy, the way he could feel himself fully relax into the mattress. Yeah, that was much better than his bed at home. Not to mention, the hotel was quieter. But sometimes he did miss the bustle of his family. Traveling around for the season had its ups and downs, and missing his sister was always what got him the most.

Otabek shut his eyes, turning the volume up with the little button on the side of his headphones. He had to make sure this was perfect. People were gonna be dancing to this at the club.

_Buzz._

Flinching, he opened his eyes. A text? Now? It could wait.

_Buzz._

_Buzz._

_Buzz._

He sat up, pausing the track and then digging into his pocket for his phone. He wouldn’t be able to focus with it vibrating against his thigh. Scattered among some Snapchat and Instagram notifications were texts from Yuri. It was the night before a competition. There was no way he was nervous. Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t get nervous. The guy’s even said so himself. But maybe, for once, he was nervous.

_Hey, can I come to your room?_

_I’ll even bring food._

_Beka???_

_Answer the door, lazy-ass._

Blinking, Otabek looked to the hotel door. He took off his headphones and then scooted off his spot at the center of the bed and waited, almost expecting another knock – that is, if Yuri had even knocked before. Wouldn’t be unlike Yuri to just text that he was there. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Otabek went to the door and opened it. Yuri stormed right in.

“Dude, look at your damn phone.” He walked right to the hotel room’s desk, setting down a large paper bag with an intricate red logo on it. He plopped into the chair before Otabek even had the door locked.

“Sorry, I was busy,” Otabek said. “I need to finish my mix by tomorrow night, so time isn’t exactly on my side.”

“Oh. Right,” Yuri looked away, shoulders sagging. “Shit. Uh, I should probably leave.”

Just as he was getting up, Otabek had made his way over to Yuri, setting gentle hands on his arms.

“Wait a sec, are you bleeding?” Otabek asked, trying to get a better look at Yuri’s face. For once, Yuri’s newfound height wasn’t exactly on his side. Not like he was trying to hide it, though. Part of him just didn’t want Otabek to ask.

“It’s not a big deal.” Yuri waved his hand dismissively and then went to grab the bag.

“What happened?” Otabek pressed.

“Nothing, okay? It’s fine, I’ll go. You’re busy anyway.”

“Yuri, it’s not fine. Sit back down.” Otabek pressed at Yuri’s chest, almost having to shove his friend back into the chair.

Yuri let himself collapse into the swivel chair, sighing. His gaze finally fell directly on Otabek.

“Let’s just say I had a little altercation.” Yuri’s shoulders shook with a small laugh. His eyes trailed away from Otabek when he realized his friend wasn’t finding it funny.

“Jeez,” Otabek breathed. “And the night before the competition, too.”

He leaned in, looking over Yuri’s face. Otabek couldn’t tell if Yuri’s nose was still bleeding, but he had a cut on his cheek, too. It seemed Yuri had tried to use his shirt to do something about the blood from the nosebleed, because his shirt collar was red and there was some blood on his chin and smudged against his collar bone and neck. He was only relieved his friend didn’t have a black eye. That would be tougher to hide.

“What happened?” Otabek asked.

Yuri looked down, shoving his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

“Some fuckers were harassing this girl and I confronted them,” Yuri said. “I guess I at least gave her enough time to get away from them.”

Otabek looked down at Yuri, sighing. He sat down at the foot of the bed, across from the swivel chair.

“I actually thought you might’ve caused some trouble. That seems more likely, honestly,” Otabek joked, smiling.

Yuri shot him a scowl.

“I’m not always being a jerk,” he said through his teeth.

Otabek leaned forward, getting a better look at Yuri’s face again.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Not really. I guess if I put too much pressure on it, it would.”

“Must look worse than it is,” Otabek said, getting up from the bed. “What’d you get us?” He asked as he flicked the bathroom light on. Pulling tissues out of the dispenser by the sink, he crumpled a few in his hand and turned on the faucet.

“Chinese takeout. Hope you like spicy Szechuan chicken. You don’t have a consistent order for Chinese, so sorry if you hate it. Guess that means more for me. At least I won’t get fat like Katsudon.” Otabek could hear Yuri’s throaty laugh from the bathroom. When he came back, Yuri was slouched in the chair, already peeling the bag open.

“Don’t eat yet, I’m gonna wipe your face,” Otabek said, standing over him.

“I can do that myself,” Yuri said, reaching out for the damp clump of tissues.

Otabek grabbed Yuri’s wrist, looking at his knuckles.

“Looks like you actually got some hits in. Do your hands feel okay?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really.”

Nodding, Otabek let go of Yuri’s hand and cupped his chin instead, stubble digging into the pads of his fingers. He rubbed at Yuri’s nose and upper lip, feeling warmth rush to his own face. Something about looking roughed up made Yuri look more like himself. Otabek didn’t always like Yuri’s aggression, but it was definitely part of the guy. And even though this was a strange opportunity, Otabek was letting himself enjoy it. Usually, if he was this close to Yuri’s face, it didn’t last too long. If not for the blood, he might have leaned in and stolen a kiss or two. But it seemed more like he was smudging the blood on Yuri’s face than actually cleaning it off. He’d probably need to get more tissues to actually help. For a quick second, Yuri shut his eyes, scrunching up his face and letting out a grunt.

“Sorry, did that hurt?” Otabek asked, dabbing at Yuri’s face a few more times.

“Just quit it, I’m fine.” Yuri pushed Otabek’s hand away, turning to the desk.

“Okay. You should shave before the competition tomorrow, though,” Otabek said. He tossed the bloodied tissues into the waste basket and returned to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“You’re not my mom, shut up,” Yuri spat. Otabek felt a smile tug at his lips. This was as close to verbal affection as Yuri ever got.

The bed creaked under Otabek’s weight as he sat back across from Yuri, this time facing Yuri’s back. He prodded the back of the chair with his foot.

“Hey, feed me, Tiger,” Otabek teased. His face sported a silly grin.

Yuri turned in the swivel chair, his face and neck red like when he’d get drunk.

“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled as he passed Otabek one of the white boxes packed to the brim with food.

They both sat quietly, hardly looking at each other. The only sounds were the white noise of the hotel’s AC unit and the munching of saucy chicken. Otabek was a little wary about eating something with such dark sauce over plain white sheets.

“The girl I helped earlier,” Yuri started, “she kinda reminded me of your little sister. Same wavy hair, y’know? I think I got a little carried away cuz of that.”

Yuri glanced up at Otabek, almost put off by his look of concern.

“What do you mean ‘carried away’? Am I gonna have to keep you hidden away from the police or something?” Otabek asked.

“You think guys preying on some teenage girl are gonna go to the cops for getting beat?”

“What’d you do to them?” Otabek shot the question out before Yuri really had time to think of something snide. He instead stabbed at his chicken with his fork.

“I broke a guy’s fingers, okay? Whatever.”

He shoved a hunk of chicken into his mouth before Otabek could ask anything else. But Otabek looked even more concerned.

“Seriously? Holy shit, Yura—”

“It wasn’t completely on purpose! The fight got messy and I grabbed his hand funny,” Yuri pushed the chair around with his heel to face the curtained windows, setting the takeout box down on the desk. “Is it bad that getting into a fistfight felt satisfying? Yakov and Lilia have been putting so much damn pressure on me lately, and I had no way to blow off steam this past month, it almost felt like the timing couldn’t have been better.”

Otabek thought for a second, then shrugged.

“No, I wouldn’t say it’s bad. And actually, I’m impressed. I didn’t know you could fight.”

“Shut up,” Yuri said. “Just work on your mix or whatever.” Yuri leaned back in the chair and toed his shoes off.

“You spending the night in my room?” Otabek asked.

“I’m at least gonna make myself comfortable for now. Shit, man, I got blood on this shirt and everything.” Yuri pushed himself out of the chair, walking to the bathroom. “Those ladies at the Chinese restaurant probably thought I was some thug. I’m surprised they didn’t kick me out.”

Otabek watched as Yuri leaned towards the mirror, inspecting his face. It would probably bruise by tomorrow. Lilia would give him an earful for that.

“I bet they get weirder people.” Otabek moved to set his box of chicken on the desk. He stole another gaze at Yuri, smiling.

“C’mere. Worry about that later,” he said, sitting back on the bed. He put his headphones back on and restarted his mix, getting comfy against the pillows like before.

Otabek felt the weight of the bed shift as Yuri got in next to him, sprawling out so his long legs hung off the end of the bed, cheek pressed to Otabek’s stomach.

“Hey, don’t get blood on my shirt now,” he said, running a hand through Yuri’s hair.

He couldn’t hear Yuri’s reply over his music, but the way he felt Yuri’s mouth move, it was probably another “shut up.”


End file.
